


Criminal

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 12:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21302132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto’s barcode catches up with him.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 20
Kudos: 141





	Criminal

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He isn’t allowed in the council chambers because he can’t _behave_ himself, but he doesn’t know how they can blame him for that—they dragged his _best friend_ off to the dungeons like some common thief. Noctis had fought, kicked, clawed his way through the guard, but there were too many holding him back. The council just won’t _listen_. He’s done screaming at them. He just goes straight down to the dungeons himself. He lets his fingers curl around the cold metal bars and wishes he could twist them open. If this keeps up much longer, he really will try it. He’ll sneak back down at night and blow open a hole in the back of the cell. He’ll do _whatever it takes_ to see Prompto free.

Prompto hangs his head, eyes scrunched shut, and won’t look up, even though Noctis desperately wants to look him in the eyes. Noctis’ voice is hoarse from apologizing, because he’s the prince—he’s supposed to _protect_ his people, Prompto most of all. He wants Prompto to come up to the bars so they can hold each other through them. But Prompto’s slumped against the back wall, mostly swallowed up in shadows. The chains drooped along the floor aren’t clamped around him—thank the Six—but he may as well bound to the spot. His boots are dirty, his pants ripped at the knee from the rough treatment of the glaives. Some of the equipment from the indoor climbing facility still clings to his body. Noctis barely took the time to squirm out of his own harness. His palms still burn from where the broken rope slid through them. 

Noctis hears a noise at the end of the corridor. It could be someone from the council, coming to announce Prompto’s fate. His teeth clench, and he promises again, “I’m not gonna let them hurt you, Prom.”

Prompto’s trembling. He has been the whole time. He croaks, “I’m so sorry,” and Noctis can tell that he’s still crying. He keeps saying _he’s_ sorry, even though he didn’t do anything wrong. His wristband was torn off, but Noctis doesn’t care about the black tattoo carved into his skin. From what Noctis understands, he didn’t choose it. He was _born_ an Imperial experiment, and no one should be blamed for the situation they’re born into. He’s lived most of his life in Insomnia. He’s been Noctis’ loyal friend. Noctis has never once doubted that, and he still doesn’t.

Prompto only showed his Imperial side when he absolutely had to, because Noctis’ rope had somehow come undone near the top of the climbing wall, and Noctis had plummeted right down. If Prompto hadn’t suddenly sprouted the white wings of an angel and dived down to catch him, Noctis might’ve died. Instead, he landed safely in Prompto’s arms. Prompto had slowly flown down and set him back onto the floor, whole body shaking and eyes wide. He must’ve said _I’m sorry_ at least a dozen times. 

Noctis had been too stunned to say anything. Too stunned to let go. Then the Crownsguard burst in out of nowhere, always subtly following Noctis from a distance, and in the next second, they were dragging Prompto off. Apparently, they knew about the Empire’s experimental soldiers. Noctis didn’t. Noctis doesn’t care. Prompto’s wings have folded submissively back under his skin, and now he just looks like a terrified human being that _really_ needs a hug. 

Footsteps trail closer, and Noctis turns to see Ignis. A pit drops into his stomach, chest clenching. He _knows_ Ignis cares about Prompto. He has to. Noctis had thought Ignis would be the first to back him up, but Ignis was eerily quiet during what little part of the council meeting that Noctis was there for. 

Noctis hisses, “You better have good news.”

Ignis’ expression is grim. It’s unsettling, though Noctis knows it couldn’t be anything else. There’s no way out of it now—Prompto’s an outsider, and everybody knows it.

“They’ve decided to cover this up,” Ignis murmurs, confirming that the meeting has concluded. “You mustn’t speak a word of what happened, either about Prompto’s true identity or the Empire’s technology. If news got out that the prince was friends with an Imperial experimental soldier, even an inactive one, the city would panic.”

Noctis nods; he doesn’t care—he doesn’t like talking to the press anyway. He asks the only thing he cares about: “What happens to Prompto?”

Ignis’ frown deepens. He answers, “In light of his actions, saving your life, he has been pardoned.”

Noctis practically buckles over with the relieved breath that he lets out. He doesn’t understand why Ignis still looks pained, until Ignis continues, “But it’s on the condition that he swears allegiance to Lucis, and...” Ignis’ eyes leave Noctis. “That his wings are clipped.”

Noctis feels hollow. He only saw them for a brief moment, but Prompto’s wings were the most magnificent things he’d ever encountered. Ever touched. They’re soft and beautiful and clearly _a part of Prompto_. It isn’t right to hurt them. 

Ignis relays, “I’m sorry.” His eyes trail through the bars of the cage, and Noctis turns to see Prompto staring up at them. 

Prompto swallows. Ignis asks, “Do you understand?”

Prompto nods. His cheeks are stained with tears, chest still heaving. But he mumbles, “That’s... that’s fine. I don’t want them anyway. I swear, I just wanted to be with you, Noct, I never wanted to lie to you—”

“It’s fine,” Noctis cuts in. He needs to be able to _hold_ Prompto and prove it. Instead, he catches Prompto’s gaze and fiercely growls, “I love you, Prom. I don’t care where you’re from.” Prompto’s glossy eyes start watering up again.

A thick figure nudges Noctis aside. He steps away to let Nyx reach the lock. A key slots into it. The second the cell is open, Noctis darts inside. 

Prompto staggers up to his feet, just in time to be caught up in Noctis’ arms. Noctis crushes him close, pets through his hair, and whispers, “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Prompto nods against his shoulder, dragging snot and tears across his throat, but Noctis doesn’t care. Prompto rasps, “I’m not Imperial. I’m yours, Noct, I swear.”

“I know.”

Ignis gives them a minute together. It’s sorely needed. Then reaching hands are drawing Prompto away again, fractionally gentler this time, and Noctis follows, unwilling to ever leave Prompto’s side.


End file.
